The breeze fair aft, all sails on high, Ten guns on each side mounted seen, She does not cut the sea, but fly, A swiftly sailing brigantine; A pirate bark, the "Dreaded" name, For her surpassing boldness famed, On every sea well-known and shore, From side to side their boundaries o'er. The moon in streaks the waves illumes Hoarse groans the wind the rigging through; In gentle motion raised assumes The sea a silvery shade with blue; Whilst singing gaily on the poop The pirate Captain, in a group, Sees Europe here, there Asia lies, And Stamboul in the front arise.

"Sail on, my swift one! nothing fear; Nor calm, nor storm, nor foeman's force, Shall make thee yield in thy career Or turn thee from thy course. Despite the English cruisers fleet We have full twenty prizes made; And see their flags beneath my feet A hundred nations laid. My treasure is my gallant bark, My only God is liberty; My law is might, the wind my mark, My country is the sea.

"There blindly kings fierce wars maintain, For palms of land, when here I hold As mine, whose power no laws restrain, Whate'er the seas infold. Nor is there shore around whate'er, Or banner proud, but of my might Is taught the valorous proofs to bear, And made to feel my right. My treasure is my gallant bark, My only God is liberty; My law is might, the wind my mark, My country is the sea.

"Look when a ship our signals ring, Full sail to fly how quick she's veered! For of the sea I am the king, My fury's to be feared; But equally with all I share Whate'er the wealth we take supplies; I only seek the matchless fair, My portion of the prize. My treasure is my gallant bark, My only God is liberty; My law is might, the wind my mark, My country is the sea.

"I am condemned to die! -- I laugh; For, if my fates are kindly sped, My doomer from his own ship's staff Perhaps I'll hang instead. And if I fall, why what is life? For lost I gave it then as due, When from slavery's yoke in strife A rover! I withdrew. My treasure is my gallant bark, My only God is liberty; My law is might, the wind my mark, My country is the sea.

"My music is the Northwind's roar; The noise when round the cable runs, The bellowings of the Black Sea's shore, And rolling of my guns. And as the thunders loudly sound, And furious the tempests rave, I calmly rest in sleep profound, So rocked upon the wave. My treasure is my gallant bark, My only God is liberty; My law is might, the wind my mark, My country is the sea.

The world is mine; I am free as air; Let others work that I may eat; All shall melt at my piteous prayer:-- "An alms, for God's sake, I entreat."

The cabin, the palace, Are my resort; If the threat of the thunder Shall break from the mountain, Or the torrent's quick fountain Shall drive me under, Within their shelter The shepherds make place, Lovingly asking me Food to grace; Or by the rich hearthstone I take my ease Fanned by the odors Of burning trees; With the luscious banquet And cushioned store, Upon the couch Of some proud señor.

And I say to myself:-- "Let the breezes blow And the tempest rage In the world without: Let the branches crack Where the high winds go, As I slumber with nothing to trouble about. The world is mine; I am free as air!"

All are my patrons, And for all I ask My God as I daily pray; From peasant and noble I get my pay, And I take their favors Both great and small. I never ask them Who they be, Nor stop to task them With thanks for fee. If they desire To give me alms, 'Tis but their duty To tip my palms. Their wealth is sinful They must see; And a holy state Is my poverty, And he is a miser Who would deny An alms, and a beggar Blest am I.

For I am poor and they grieve to note How I groan beneath my pain; They never see that their wealth is a mine Where I my treasures gain. The world is mine; I am free as air!

A rebel and a discontent Amid my rags am I; To satirise their ease I'm sent And with a sour-set eye I boldly stare at the potentate Who dares to pass me in his state.

The lovely maid Of a thousand scents In her joy arrayed With her love-locks blent-- 'Tis she I follow Till she turns around, And my evil smells Her sense astound. At the feasts and spreads My voice is heard And they bow their heads At my merest word. Their joy and revel I come to stay, At the sight of my rags And my voice's brags Their music dies away. Showing how near Dwell pain and joy; No joy without tear No pain sans glad alloy. The world is mine; I am free as air!

For me no morrow Nor yesterday; I forget the sorrow And the welladay. There's nought to trouble Or weary me here,-- It's a palace tomorrow Or a hospital's cheer. I live a stranger To thoughts of care; Let others seek glory Or riches rare! My one concern Is to pass today; Let the laws prevail Where the monarchs sway! For I am a beggar And a poor man proud; 'Tis through fear of me There are alms allowed.

A soft asylum Where'er it be, And a hospital bed Will be ready for me; And a cosy ditch Where my bones shall lie Will cover me over When I die.

The world is mine; I am free as air; Let others work that I may eat! All hearts must melt at my piteous prayer:-- An alms, for God's sake, I entreat!"

The clock had struck the witching hour,So the ancient tales recall,When silence shrouds the sleeping world,And darkness has cast its pall;The hour the living resemble the deadWhile the dead desert the tomb.This was the hour of the fearful voice,Discordant voice of doom.At such an hour might empty stepsSound hollow on the ground,And horrifying phantoms prowl,Dark shadows all around;When terror-stricken hounds might yowl,Aghast at those ghostly sights;At such an hour a bell might tollThe witches to sabbath rites,Invoking them to celebrate,With curse upon damning curseOrchestrated uncannilyFrom an ancient ruined church.So murky was the sky that night,Not a single star shone there;The wind was whistling mournfully,And floating in yonder airLike spectral figures, there appearedChurch towers in the skyAnd topmost gothic battlements,Vague outlines hovering high;The sentry here might chant in prayerOr mutter in fearful tones:In short, the city at dead of nightEntombed its living souls;And where the fecund Tormes flows -All’s quiet in the ancient town,Beloved city of the Muse,Salamanca, city renowned,The celebrated city, famedFor arms and learning, esteemedThe cradle of distinguished men,And temple of academe.A sudden clash of swords rings out,With that, a harrowing “aghh!”,An agonising scream resounds,Strikes terror to the heart -A scream that makes the blood run cold,A ghastly, spine-chilling cry,A man’s last cry of fear untoldAs he bids this world goodbye.

Your early dawning's cloud of white:you're tinged with crimson, opal hued, and colored by the breaking light forerunning, gleaming, to our sight ...the morning clearness, morning dew. Now all your virgin purityhas been dispersed, regrettably:the wind swept off your fantasyalong with that felicitythat love had promised it would be.The leaves now fallen from the treebecome the playthings of the wind,and lost illusions are for methe leaves torn from another tree:the tree that grows from heart to mind.

Now row, now cast off,cast off our good boat,now break through the clouds,now break through the mists,the winds and the flames,the murk and the dark,the waves of the sea.

Row on, let us crossthe bounds of the world:Now today the devils, free,break their sad prison at last,and with music and with clamorcondemned men celebrate freedomsinging and drinking togetherat a dev'lish feast of glee.

I like to watch the heavensas clouds of black roll by,and hear the north wind raging:its terrifying roar.I like to see the evening sans moon and sans the stars, and nothing but scintillas to lend a little light.

I'm pleased by cemeteries when packed to overflowingand dripping blood and gore,until it takes our breath.Inside, there stands a digger,his face all framed with gloom,as with his ruthless handshe crushes all the skulls.

I like to see the bombs fall gently from the sky and, as it would appear, lie harmless on the ground ... and then, in all their fury to come to life, exploding and belching lightning bolts, with corpses everywhere.

May thunder waken me with hoarse and brutal tread and make the sleeping world to shudder and awake.May countless lightning crashincessant on the world:great pleasure's mine to see the scuttling firmament.

I'd like to light the flame to burn the city down: to burn both far and near, with rubble everywhere. To see an old man roasting and burning like a torch;to hear his plangent pleading: my pleasure and my joy!

I like the countryside when blanketed with snow: the fruit and flower and greensall being exorcized.And all the songbirds too, and not a sign of sunlight, but only shadow-shows from all-pervading death.

And in the shady woods a crumbling mansion stands: what joy it gives to me when it reflects the moon and when the weathervanes go harshly squealing roundthey call to mind the scream that tells us someone's dead.

I like it when they carry poor mortals to Avernus and there they make them suffer for all the ill they've wrought by opening their bowels by tearing out their tendons by breaking all their hearts and paying heed to nought.

The unaccustomed freshet that floods the fertile plain and reaches mountain-heights and horrifes us all: it sweeps away the cattle and vines without a pause: such ruin it can cause, and such delight for me.

The shouting and the laughter, the gaming and the bottles: on every side the beauties that laugh to drink them downand plant upon the lips a kiss with every drink: voluptuous flattery from every bawdy mouth.

And then to break the glass, cups, saucers, plates and cards,and then with razor bared seek out the nearest heart. And then to hear the toasting all mixed up with the moaning and shrieking of the wounded: confusion, and the grief.

I'd like to see the man go dragging his intestine, while, dying in a corner, another pleads for wine, as those already drunk in unaccustomed phrase sing out a shameless songto holy God on high.

All while the mistresses recline upon their couches their breasts all bare of ouches and not a belt in sight: they show off all their charms, their hair in disarray, their lovely thighs exposed ...What pleasure! What a sight!